


Playing With Fire

by QtPi



Category: 00Q - Fandom, Q - Fandom, Skyfall - Fandom
Genre: Angst, F/M, M/M, Scarred!Q, character backstory
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-11-04
Updated: 2012-11-25
Packaged: 2017-11-17 23:30:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 5,317
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/554399
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/QtPi/pseuds/QtPi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Q hides a secret about his past, but Bond knows when Q is hiding something...</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Scarred

**Author's Note:**

> For the 00Q fandom on Tumblr :)
> 
> Scarred!Q

Q didn’t have time for distractions – he wanted to do his job efficiently and feel good about it – so when the bottom of his shirt got ripped, he wasn’t happy in the slightest. Nothing was worse than not looking the part, and having a ripped shirt when you are part of MI6 is definitely not looking the part. During his break, Q went searching for James and, as usual, he was on the treadmill preparing for his next mission. Q crept his head round, intimidated by the beastly equipment, and caught James’s eye; James slowed the treadmill down, took out his earphones and beckoned Q in.  
‘What’re you doing here?’ James never thought he would ever see Q in a gym, and he definitely didn’t look like he was here to lift some weights.  
‘I, erm... I had a little accident,’ Q showed him the tear in his shirt and James had to chuckle a little.  
‘Oh, Q. What are we gonna do with you?’  
‘Do you have a spare shirt?’ Q sheepishly asked.  
With a grin, James replied, ‘Yeah, come with me.’

James’s locker, 007, was in the changing rooms of the gym, somewhere Q hadn’t been either. While James opened up his locker, Q looked around - it was cold and dull and definitely not somewhere Q would want to be. With a clang of the small, metal door, James had a shirt out for him.  
‘It might be a bit... bigger than your usual shirt size.’ James jested, handing over the shirt.  
‘As long as it’s wearable it’ll do,’ Q was agitated and opened up the shirt, ‘Would you mind, not looking while I change... I’m a bit... uncomfortable with my body, erm, yeah...’ James raised an eyebrow, concerned.  
‘Confidence?’  
‘Erm... yeah you could say that.’  
‘Are you sure?’  
‘Errr... yeah it’s just because I’m not, y’know, the same... build as you so—‘  
‘Q,’ Q froze mid-speech, ‘I can tell when you’re hiding something.’

Silence crept through the cold room, and Q bit his lip to fight any anxiety creeping out.  
‘I... erm. I...,’ Q thought carefully, but decided to be honest, ‘I have a scar... and I don’t like people noticing it.’  
‘Oh...’ James’s voiced lowered in pitch and volume.  
‘It’s fine, you know now so... it’s not that bad now. I’ll only be a minute.’  
Q took of his cardigan and placed it neatly on the bench next to him while James pretended to do something else so Q wouldn’t feel too uncomfortable. Button by button, Q undid his shirt, hiding his face from James’s. As he slowly took off the torn fabric, James saw Q’s wound.

A burn, the size of James’s hand, rested on Q’s left shoulder blade.  
‘Oh my God.’ James’s sympathetic voice startled Q and he quickly put on James’s shirt. James rested a hand on Q’s shoulder. ‘I’m sorry.’  
‘You don’t even know what caused it...’ Q said while buttoning up the shirt wrong, however he slowed down as the warmth of James’s hand gave him support.  
‘...What caused it?’  
Q let out a nervous giggle. ‘I don’t know if I want to say...’  
‘...Can I see it again?’ James’s intense eyes stared into Q’s, but that intensity wasn’t that of a beast, but of a friend.

With his trust, Q unbuttoned the shirt and pulled it down to show James the scar, and James, being gentle studied every millimetre of it.  
‘It was a fire,’ Q blurted, ‘A house fire.’  
‘I’m sorry...’ James repeated in a soft whisper.  
‘I was with my father eight years ago, we were having a catch up – when I was a child we used to talk about the future. That’s what we’d think about... the future, not the past... and I knew I wanted to do him proud one day. That one day, eight years ago, I remember him saying “I can’t wait to see who you’ve become.” Then... smoke. This raging fire, blinding me and choking both of us. We were trapped on the second floor, the fire outside the door. It was inevitable that the fire would come after us. The windows were hard to open, and both of us were weak. Eventually I managed to open a window, and I called my father over. He was on the floor, coughing and spluttering, and the crackling of the fire got louder. Suddenly, the fire swallowed the door in a flash, and I made sure my back faced the fire so my father didn’t get as hurt. “Please, father, we have to hurry. There’s a way out, let’s go!’ A ball of flames hit my shoulder blade and burnt me. “Please father.” He wouldn’t move; instead he pulled me in and whispered “Leave me here. You go ahead” I wouldn’t leave him, not my own father, but then he kept shouting something as he used his last amount of strength pushing me towards the window. It wasn’t until I reluctantly climbed up to the window that I heard what he said. “You can do it, Michael.”’

Silence.  
Q felt a tear trickle down his cheek, and accepted that he couldn’t hide his feelings. He turned round to see James, frozen with shock. After what seemed like a lifetime, James pulled Q in and embraced him tightly; Q let all his emotions go and cried into James’s neck, happy to have a friend. When Q had calmed down, James took Q’s face and wiped the tears away, almost crying himself.  
‘You’re very brave, Michael...’ James whispered, sounding as frail as ever. Without hesitations, the two of them leant in closer and let their lips crush together. Every emotion they both felt was released, and together, they managed to kiss the pain away. The kiss deepened, James putting his hands through Q’s black, curly locks and Q wrapping his dainty arms around James’s neck. Neither of them had ever felt so connected to someone until now, and from that moment on, they knew they had each other.


	2. Earl Grey

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As Q tries to sleep, flashes of his past keep him awake and remind him of his guilt.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Natalie Merchant - My Skin

That evening, Q writhed in his bed, flashes of flames and his father’s face appeared in his lucid state. By 3am, Q knew that sleeping wasn’t going to be an option, and he sat upright on his bed and slumped in the darkness, searching for his glasses. As he regained his vision, Q walked slowly into the kitchen to brew himself a cup of Earl Grey. The kick that Earl Grey tea had brought back the happy memories Q had with his father – the catch up sessions, the times they would work together on short stories or read books in the library, maybe even just watch the television in the lounge together, laughing and having fun together.  
Q always beat his father at chess.

‘You can do it, Michael.’  
As the scent of the tea hit his nose, Michael felt tightness in his chest and had to release it with a whimper. A cry. 

Occasionally Q would remember vivid memories from that day, but the fact that he had told someone else about what happened made everything flood back like a tidal wave. He told James. He trusted James, but it killed him to tell him. His burn clung onto him – Q liked to think it was his father’s ‘mark’, but then he felt disgusted to think about it that way.  
Burning flesh. Cremation. Ashes.

When Q’s kettle clicked, he clicked back into reality, wiped his tears away and added a small amount of milk after taking the teabag out and chucking it into the bin. He slowly stirred the tea, the steam clouding up his vision, but Q managed to scrub the condensation off his lenses.

Nothing good was on the television in the early morning, just teleshopping channels and other boring rubbish Q didn’t care about, but, he needed to take his mind off. He channel hopped until he came across an old rerun of University Challenge. Q and his father would tune in and work as their own team conferring and stating answers at the TV. Most of the time they would be right. Q always knew they were a great team and he would always enjoy being with his father to watch it. They had done this since Michael was a child – that’s probably where he originally got his intelligence and passion for learning.  
‘The inevitability of time,’ Q whispered as he took a sip from his mug. He was slouching in the middle of his sofa with a small lamp on, clasping onto his mug tightly. After a few minutes, Q managed to get a bit more comfortable and leant backwards, occasionally taking another sip of Earl Grey. Memories swooped Q’s brain, leaving him dizzy with thoughts. Good memories. Fun memories, however they left him feeling melancholy.

What had happened earlier that day was unlike anything Q had ever experienced. He had never felt like he had anyone, but James was there to look over him when he needed a hand to hold. Even though Q would see him tomorrow, he needed James with him now – he needed James to himself, for comfort, and to love someone.  
Q told Bond that he could do as much damage as Bond like this; little did Bond know it was to himself. Every day, Q would regret leaving his father behind.  
‘You bastard,’ he would mutter now and then to himself, ‘You selfish bastard. You should’ve died, not him. It all your fault.’

***

Shortly after his father’s death – after the funeral – Michael was failing in his job and got the sack. He had nowhere to go, and he’d started wasting his money on an endless supply of cigarettes. It was a vicious circle for Michael – he’d smoke his troubles away when really, his trouble was the smoke. One day, Michael was sitting on a step in Covent Garden, puffing away while a string quintet played Canon in D Major. A frail man said next to him, admiring the atmosphere.  
‘You okay here?’ the old man said with curiousity.  
‘Perfectly fine. None of your business.’  
‘Of course it isn't, sorry.’ The man was so cheerful it was contagious. ‘Please, let me introduce myself. Geoffery.’ He offers Michael his hand. ‘Geoffery Boothroyd.’  
‘Michael.’


	3. Cigarettes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Q goes into work to take his mind off of everything, when it does the complete opposite...

Q didn’t know whether to look forward to going in to work or dread it. It was almost as if he could still feel James’s lips imprinted onto his. After watching a few more episodes of University Challenge and drinking five more mugs of Earl Grey, Q found the motivation to get ready for another day leading Q branch. By the time Q had put on his long, hooded coat and stepped outside of his flat into the rain, he wished he could go back inside.

As soon as Q got into his lab with his now-soaked hair, he was practically sleepwalking. He greeted his fellow workers and took his place behind his work bench, working on a new invention – a cigarette that had an explosive compound inside, so once lit, you had a few minutes before the cigarette exploded. Once Q had started his project, he got lost in his work as usual; hands moving at the speed of light and only stopping to sip his tea or adjust his glasses. Q only cared about his work – he promised his father he would always keep up his work, and he would always make sure he would keep up his job until the day he died.

‘Busy?’ a voice Q recognised boomed behind him. He turned around to see James, looking as sleep deprived as he did.  
‘Bond...’  
‘Q...’  
‘I –I-I didn’t hear you come in...’  
‘Sorry. Did I bother you?’ James’s face was full of concern, and Q stared into his eyes, recognising that look from yesterday.  
‘No.’ Q said breathlessly, ‘I was about to test something. Would you like to join me?’ Stupid Q. Why did I say that?! He thought.  
‘Why not?’ James grinned, intrigued as to what Q had in store.

As they both walked to another part of the lab where they were isolated, Q ran through the events of yesterday. Of course James remembered, but what did it mean to him? Was James being serious? Was Q over thinking about silly mistakes again? Q ran the deadly cigarette through his fingers, wishing he could smoke again. Eight years ago, Michael lived off of cigarettes and alcohol, relying on the warmth and comfort of them to slowly kill him. The isolated hall was so quiet; you could hear a pin drop. M had talked about how the original MI6 headquarters would soon be restored, and they wouldn’t have to stay in the horrid bunkers for much longer. They both walked to the furthest end of the hall until Q stopped James.

‘This isn’t a normal cigarette, Bond.’ Q got straight to the point, facing James, ‘It’s a lethal weapon that may come in handy if you’re ever in an... awkward situation.’ Q felt like he shouldn’t have brought the word ‘awkward’ into the conversation. Getting out a lighter, James watched Q in fascination, silently anticipating what surprise Q had up his sleeve. He lit the cigarette, dropped it at his feet, grabbed James’s arm and dragged him over to the other side and behind a safety screen. Q’s lack of sleep got the better of him and when they stopped, he wheezed, exhausted - James couldn’t help but laugh, but he stopped as soon as Q gave him a sudden glare.  
‘So... what does it do?’ James said as looked over at the cigarette, alight and slowly burning away –he knew what it would do any way, why else would they be behind a safety screen?  
‘You’ll see.’ Q stood next to James, getting his breath back. That’s how they were for another minute, just staring at this pathetic stick on the ground.

BANG.

The cigarette exploded, and Q knew he had done his job well. James let out a chuckle of excitement, approving of Q’s work, but Q couldn’t take his eyes off the flames that were now forming. Fire. Explosions. Death. Ash. Eyes wide. Q’s vision changed when he felt a hand squeezing his, reassuring him that everything was okay. He looked over at James, who remained expressionless, and squeezed back, letting the corner of his mouth curve up. Swallowing his tears, Q held onto Bond’s hand as he got lost in the flames and the thoughts of his father...

-

‘Pleasure to meet you, Michael.’ Geoffery let go of his hand. For a while they both sat next to each other, admiring the string quintet and taking in their positive vibe. They were chanting, encouraging the crowd to clap and had beaming smiles, loving what they do. At one point, Michael smiled and started clapping shyly, Geoffery joined in too. They both looked at each other, and Michael laughed for the first time since his father’s death. There was something about Geoffery being there that cheered him up; he seemed like someone who would care for others, a friend.  
‘Geoffery...’ Michael said while putting out his cigarette... ‘How about we have a drink?’  
‘I’d like that!’ Geoffery replied, eyes widened in excitement.


	4. Birthday

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 27th October. Q’s birthday.
> 
> He never really saw much excitement in birthdays, so whenever his came round, he opened his cards, acknowledged the fact he was a year older and carried on with his work. Twenty nine years old and he felt like he’d experienced a lifetime already...

Geoffrey and Michael picked a table outside a pub near the quintet – they liked having the music near them. As the string players started performing their quirky rendition of Vivaldi’s Four Seasons, Geoffrey went off to order a pint of bitter and a glass of whisky. Michael got lost in the music – there was something about Baroque music he loved, but he wasn’t sure what it was. Was it the feeling that everything was new? The virtuosity of it? All he knew is that it made him smile; it was mesmerising.  
Geoffrey came back, weaving his way through other busy tables, apologising to almost everyone. Sitting back down on his chair, he passed the whisky over to Michael, who took a huge swig of it, grimacing at the strength of it.  
‘So,’ Michael said while lighting up another cigarette, ‘what do you do?’  
‘I’m an... inventor.’  
‘Seriously?’ Michael guffawed at the idea.  
‘Yes.’ Came a stern reply, ‘I help people by creating, erm, gadgets for the people I work with.’  
‘Who do you work with?’ Michael leaned forward, intrigued.  
‘...I can’t tell you.’ Geoffrey said slowly. His eyes shifted back to the string quartet, but Michael wanted to know more.  
When Michael wanted to know something, he was determined to find out what it was. Using his persuasive skills, Michael managed to find out what sort of gadgets Geoffrey made, and wanted to still know more.  
‘Maybe one day you could come along to my study at home and I’ll show you some basics,’ Geoffrey proposed; a grin crept on Michael’s face again.  
‘I’d love that,’ he replied.  
And that’s when Michael started to pick himself up again.

-

27th October. Q’s birthday.  
He never really saw much excitement in birthdays, so whenever his came round, he opened his cards, acknowledged the fact he was a year older and carried on with his work. Twenty nine years old and he felt like he’d experienced a lifetime already. It was terrifying to Q how much things can change in such a short span of time – it was only 6 months ago he was offered the job and he knows that he is someone completely different. It wasn’t something that changed him, it was someone. Every time Q thought of James, he couldn’t help but snicker a little, looking back at what those two have been through together – and it all started by looking at a bloody painting.

It was a Saturday, the day Q would go into MI6 HQ early in the morning, leave at 12 and relax at home with a fresh cup of Earl Grey. However, that’s not how today was going to end up, Q could feel it. His plan was to keep his head down, do his work and blush if anyone wished him Happy Birthday – sounded easy enough. Despite Q’s great plan, he couldn’t escape the wrath of his fellow workers – one step into Q Branch and every head turned with smiles. Q’s walk to his desk seemed like the longest trek he ever took, having almost every person at the desk muttering ‘Happy birthday, Sir.’

‘Yes I know, thank you for reminding me I’m getting older. It’s not like people have been telling me all bloody day!’ – This is what Q wished he could’ve said, however, he thought it was better just to nod his head and pretend it didn’t happen. Just before he left for work, he went off to the kitchens to make himself an Earl Grey in his flask.  
‘Hello, Michael.’ said that voice. Q snapped his head round, blushing even more this time. James was standing in the doorway with a card in his hand. ‘I know it’s not much but, happy birthday.’ He was holding out the card with a grin in the corner of his mouth. Trying to hide his beetroot face – and failing – Q took the card and opened it carefully. The front of the card had a dog looking hardly amused with a party hat on his head, and Q couldn’t hide his little grin. When he opened the card up, a £20 note fell onto the floor, and he picked it up in bewilderment.  
‘...James you shouldn’t have!’ Q shook his head, holding the card in one hand and the note in the other.  
‘Just read the card!’  
Inside the card was a handwritten message:  
‘Michael,  
Happy birthday! Hope you have a good one!  
All the best,  
James.’

Q let out another grin and looked up at the fellow agent, ‘Thank you, James.’  
‘No problem,’ replied Bond, ‘about the £20 note - I was going to go out later this evening, you know, Halloween Saturday and all that. I wondered if you wanted to join me or not.’ Panic grew on Q’s face. ‘Oh, just a few drinks round London, you don’t have to co—‘  
‘No I will! I want to.’ A smile broadened across James’s face.  
‘Great. 7 o’clock. Leicester Square station?’  
‘O-o-okay.’  
‘See you there, then.’ James started to walk away, but turned round one more time, ‘And don’t forget – it’s not Halloween Saturday unless you’re in... a more fitting attire...’

Surprisingly, Q wasn’t the type of person to have a night out in London, especially on one of the busiest nights of the year. At least he was going with someone he trusted, and he was sure Bond would look after him if any sort of scruff was going to happen. Halloween really wasn’t Q’s thing – he usually just stayed indoors and didn’t open the door to anyone – and going into London with a load of mature adults in fancy dress wasn’t someone he wanted to be a part of.  
7 o’clock. Leicester Square station. Despite getting the memo, Q had sufficed with staying in his work clothes and his long, hooded coat. Fancy dress was out of the question from the start – he laughed at the thought of him in a cat outfit. Ten minutes later, a more-casual looking Bond appeared from the steps of the station – he still wore his work clothes, but his tie was gone and he’d opened up the top of his shirt.  
‘Where the hell have you been?’ Q snapped, tapping his watch.  
‘Sorry, I was just, distracted.’ This made Q raise an eyebrow, not saying a word. ‘...What?!’  
‘You aren’t dressed up. I thought you’d be one for the Halloween spirit!’  
‘Oh God no!’  
‘Thank God for that...’ Q sighed, ‘Now where to?’

Bond led them both to the W Hotel – a colossal building with bright lights covering the walls. There was a doorman, who obviously knew James well.  
‘Evening, Mr Bond,’ the doorman nodded his head at both of them and opened the door. It was a sight James was used to seeing, the elegance and beauty of the lobby made Q’s eyes widen in excitement. Their coats were taken from them and put into a cloakroom, and Q suddenly changed from boyish to dapper. James led the way into the bar inside – it was busy, but not busy enough to make Q run away. The bar was elaborate and glamorous, with disco balls, leather sofas and a glass bar counter.  
‘Bloody hell.’ Was all Q could manage, and Bond had to hide a snicker.  
‘I’m paying for the first rounds,’ Bond demanded, and the two of them sat at the bar, ‘two vodka Martinis, please. Shaken, not stirred.’  
‘Hold on!’ Q gulped, ‘I’m not sure Martinis are my thing.’  
‘You don’t know until you’ve tried,’ Bond sighed as he watched the attractive bartender fix up their drinks.

As the two glasses were placed in front of them, the two of them thanked the bartender. Hesitant at first, Q picked up his glass and clinked it with Bond’s; they both took a sip together. Bond smiled at the bartender, and Q coughed and grimaced a little; he wasn’t used to the strong stuff.  
‘God.’ Was all Q could say, ‘A bit strong!’  
‘Don’t like it?’ chuckled Bond.  
‘Well, it’s not bad. Just strong.’ Q took another sip, grimacing again.

After finishing his martini, Q looked into the empty glass, then up at Bond, chuckling with a smile from ear to ear on his face.  
‘What is it?’  
‘It’s just,’ Q looked like he was on the verge of tears, ‘I haven’t had a birthday like this in a while. You know, with all the glamour, and the celebration, and the feeling like you belong somewhere.’ Q bit his lip and looked back down at his glass. He felt a hand on his shoulder, and looked up to find James smiling back – they stayed like that for a while, and James could see every emotion Q had felt in his eyes. All the mourning, all the regret, all the pain was still there; Q just kept it hidden.  
‘Right!’ James snapped back into reality and turned round to the bartender, ‘The same, please!’  
‘Actually!’ Q interrupted, being more lively than normal, ‘I think I’ll try something else. Whiskey, please!’  
‘Coming right up!’ The bartender grinned, raising her eyebrows at the pair of them.

‘I tell you what!’ Q slammed his empty glass on the counter, ‘Those bloody workers at Q Branch need to stop calling me “Sir”, cause... well... I don’t like it. I just don’t like it.’  
‘Fair enough,’ Bond sipped his Martini slowly, finding Q’s slow intoxication highly amusing.  
‘Another whiskey please, my dear,’ Q took his jacket off and placed it on the stool next to him, however a woman stopped him.  
‘Mind if I sit here?’ the woman asked; she had long, blonde hair and was dressed in a glamorous, crimson cocktail dress.  
‘No, of course not.’ Being a gentleman, Q took his jacket back.  
‘I’m Lizzi, by the way.’  
‘I’m Michael.’ Q beamed a smile before thanking the bartender, again.

‘Fucking ‘ell!’ Q coughed after downing a shot of vodka; Lizzi snorting like a little girl.  
‘Wuss!’  
‘I’m not a wuss!’ slurred Q, ‘I’m a soldier!’ With an elaborate salute, dance music boomed from the speakers and the disco balls started spinning. ‘Come on, my darling. Shall we dance?’ Q jumped from his stool, bowed before Lizzi and offered his hand.  
‘With pleasure, Sir Michael.’  
‘James! Could you watch my jacket?!’  
‘Of course!’ yelled James over the loud music, and he ordered another Martini, watching his Quartermaster dance with a stranger.

This is probably the first time James had had a night out without finding a beautiful woman to chat with. Instead, he was watching a drunk Q, dancing and laughing with a gorgeous young lady, and they both definitely seemed to be enjoying themselves. ‘Toxic’ was playing, and Lizzi couldn’t help laughing at Q’s dance moves; with his magical hips and grinding.  
‘It’s my birthday today!’ Q shouted over the chorus.  
‘Oooh! Birthday boy!’ Lizzi raised her eyebrows and bit her lip.  
‘Yeah, thought I’d have a bit of fun! Get away from work!’ he spun her round and held her in an embrace.  
‘Well then, I’m glad you did.’  
Then, without much notice, Lizzi pulled on Q’s tie and let her lips meet his. At first Q was shocked, but let his hands cup her face. They played around a little, opening and closing their mouths, deepening the kiss, tasting the alcohol on their lips. After pulling away, Q just looked wide eyed at her before giggling like a maniac and dragging her to one of the sofas.

James was gripping his martini glass harder than he should’ve, watching Q and Lizzi from across the room. Why was he feeling like that? All he knew is that he’d probably be the one walking Q home.  
After not too long, Lizzi was taking Q’s tie off and wrapping it around her neck, brushing her fingers through his thick hair and slipping her snake-like tongue into his mouth. Q hadn’t been kissed like this since James. James. No, he didn’t need to think about him right now. He stopped kissing Lizzi and broke away.  
‘What’s wrong, Michael?’  
‘No I just—I just thought of something,’ a wave of nausea hit Q, ‘I’m really lonely.’ The sudden urge to cry made him blush.  
‘Don’t worry, I’m here.’ She lifted Q’s head up, and Q couldn’t resist but press his lips onto her neck, before moving onto her jaw and finally her lips. They carried on where they had left off, tugging and smiling while their tender lips touched each others, with nothing else mattering.

After what seemed like eternity, being lost in each others’ lips, Lizzi took Q glasses off, which startled him at first.  
‘Close your eyes and hold onto my hands,’ With no choice, Q did as he was told and felt himself being taken to somewhere different, with the music fading into an echo. He recognised the beeps of lift buttons, and he staggered when he felt the sudden jolt of the lift going up. After another episode of tugging, and hearing an opening of a door, he stood still. ‘Open them.’ From what Q could make out, they were in a hotel room, presumably Lizzi’s.  
‘...Can I have my glasses back now?’ Q begged, or tried to.  
‘Your eyes will adjust.’ Lizzi whispered in his ear before staring into his eyes. They stood like that for a while before Q pushed Lizzi up against a wall and started kissing her, this time, more passionately.

Undoing Q’s shirt, Lizzi felt Q’s arms gripping around her waist, holding her tightly against his body. God knows what time it was, their heads were too busy dazed in a whirl of lust and alcohol to think about anything else. Once Lizzi had undone Q’s shirt, he helped her take it off – he was still sweaty from the dancing, and his hair was scruffy and untidy. Q started to bite Lizzi’s lip, and caressed the back of her neck, now and then letting out a drunken, high-pitched chuckle, in which Lizzi responded with a kiss. As Lizzi pushed him onto her bed and climbed onto his body, they were interrupted by a phone ringing. Q groaned, and reached for his phone, barely being able to speak, he left out a slurred ‘Hellooo?’ A bothered Lizzi sighed and carried on twisting his hair with her fingers, pouting at Q. His eyes widened and he sat up, ‘Bond! Shit! Hi.’ He regretted sitting up immediately, and felt a massive head rush.  
‘Q. I have your jacket.’ A mumble came down the phone.  
‘Oh yeah. Yeah, erm. I—‘  
‘I was going now.’  
‘Oh for fuck’s sake Bond,’ he looked at Lizzi, ‘I’m a little busy right now!’  
‘Oh yeah, in a hotel room with a complete stranger.’  
‘Well you can talk, you sleazy bastard!’ Q spat down the phone.  
‘Q, you’re absolutely smashed, okay? Come down and let’s go home, okay?’  
‘...Fine.’ Q hung up. ‘Can I have my glasses back?’ The mood had definitely been killed.  
‘Why?’ Lizzi pulled a face like a lost puppy.  
‘I—I just have to go.’ Q stood up and Lizzi handed him his glasses back, he pulled Lizzi back up and gave her one last kiss. ‘Thanks anyway, I still have your number, remember?’ They both smiled, and Q left her in her room, alone.

As the lift doors opened to the lobby, Q tripped out into an unhappy James who handed him his jacket and coat.  
‘I’m taking you home,’ James told Q sternly.  
‘I was having a perfectly good tim—‘  
‘MICHAEL!’ That shut him up. ‘Now.’  
After clumsily putting on his jacket and coat and fixing his hair in a mirror, James walked out of the hotel, followed by a staggering Q.

On the way back to Q’s flat, Q fell over approximately four times, into people, bushes and railings. James hand to end holding Q by the arm so that he didn’t go off somewhere or annoy everyone else, however he did have to put up with a whinging Q talking about his new found love, Lizzi, which made James’s grip tighten. Twenty minutes later, they were back at Q’s flat, and he made sure he got to his front door and had to force Q to put in the code - after tripping up a few more flights of stairs, they reached Q’s front door.  
‘You know what, James?’ Q leant on James’s shoulder before fumbling for his house key. ‘You’re a really, good friend. I mean that.’ Q turned the key and opened his door. ‘You are one of the best friends I’ve ever had.’ And with that, Q grabbed James’s face, gave him a quick, lingering kiss on the lips, giggled and wished James a good night before slamming the door.


End file.
